“But… but you’re a priest. You’re not supposed to kill—”
“None of us are,” I said. “We’re all God’s children, technically. I am here to help those who want to overcome their sins, and God is there for me when I commit my own.” I leaned down over him, lowering my voice to a whisper, “That’s the thing about God. As long as you seek forgiveness, he will forgive. He’s always there, always waiting, because he knows we all make mistakes.”
The man blinked. “You’re fucking insane.” He grimaced, and I wondered if he was starting to feel it. I’d given him a little something to help keep him knocked out while I did what I had to; it had to be wearing off.
I smiled at him. Just a quick, fleeting smile. “Perhaps I am. Maybe we’re all mad down here. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Bogeyman?” I could see the wheels turning in his head, but since they might never reach their destination, I went on, “He was a serial killer that killed his victims in the dead of night—always with a knife. He’d cut them up and leave them for the police to find… or their children.”
“I don’t give a fuck about any of this.” He groaned. “I’m not telling you who Atlas is.”
“Maybe not right now, but you will. Every man is breakable. You just have to find the best way to break them.” I stared at him, amazed. “You still don’t feel it, do you? I admit, I’ve always been curious about phantom limb sensations, but to not be aware of it at all—that’s something else entirely.”
His brows creased. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
I went to set the knife down. “Although, I do suppose you had a pretty hard knock on the head, and I did give you something for the pain so you wouldn’t wake up. And there’s that hand of yours… which you’d still have, if you wouldn’t have brought a gun into my church.” I moved to the refrigerator in the corner of the room, pulling it open.
Something wrapped up in a cloth, though that cloth had gotten stained with red since the first incision, sat in the fridge. The only thing in there.
I pulled it out, my ears beginning to hear the man’s breathing harden. I set it down on his lap. Even though it was covered, it was obvious what it was. The man’s eyes widened when he saw it, but still he said nothing. Maybe he thought it belonged to his dead friend.
“You will tell me who Atlas is. The sooner you do, the better off you’ll be.” I reached for the cloth wrapped around it, undoing it to reveal what lay beneath, and the very moment he saw what it was, he started babbling incoherently.
What was it?
A foot.
His foot, to be specific.
Well, more like from the knee down, whatever you’d call that.
His foot sat on his lap, and he had been oblivious to it until just now. He started screaming, and I let him. I stood there, listening to it all. I wasn’t lying when I said every man was breakable. You just had to know how to come at them, what specific pain to put them through… what kind of psychological torture to inflict upon them.
“I cauterized your leg,” I told him, watching as he could not tear his stare away from his leg and foot on his lap. “And fixed up your hand as best I could. You and I… we’re going to have lots of fun together.”
Maybe fun wasn’t the correct word—not for him, but it was for me. Lately, it had felt like I’d been going through the motions, not really having a purpose beyond as a priest to this city. But now, now I had purpose again. Now I had an enemy. This Atlas… I wasn’t going to sit back and let him come after Giselle. No, I might not know her that well, but there was something about her that called out to me. Something that made me want to protect her.
A shepherd always did whatever he could to protect his flock, even if that meant setting traps for the wolves.